


A Slip of the Tongue

by jilliancares



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drarry, Hogwarts Eighth Year, M/M, Sex Toys, uhhhhhh yeah
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-17
Updated: 2017-04-17
Packaged: 2018-10-20 05:23:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10655793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jilliancares/pseuds/jilliancares
Summary: It's eighth year and Potter - for some dumb reason - thinks Draco's up to something.





	A Slip of the Tongue

Draco was hiding in the cubicle, crouching on the toilet seat in an effort not to be found. He hadn’t been thinking, rarely was these days, in fact, but he knew he was practically a dead man at this point.

He’d been on his way to potions class (which was a right bore, now the Snape wasn’t teaching it anymore) when a second year girl had walked right into him, knocking all his newly purchased potion ingredients to the ground. And normally Draco wouldn’t have reacted this way, or, he would have before the war, but he wouldn’t usually have _now_ , when it was over and resolved and Draco was hated because he’d been on the losing side. But it was so hard for him to get potion ingredients these days, even the ones that he was required to buy for class, as he was constantly expected to be using the ingredients to make evil potions, which he obviously wouldn’t. He didn’t have a taste for Azkaban, thank you very much.

But the fact of the matter was that a second year idiot had knocked his ingredients to the ground, and it’d taken three weeks for his order to be processed and inspected before it’d been shipped to him, which meant that he’d missed three weeks of potions that he needed to catch up on as well as the new ones they were doing every class. But his newly acquired, highly inspected ingredients were littered on the ground, broken and mixed together and _bubbling_. And Merlin knew that when Draco ordered those very same ingredients again, they’d be inspected for _twice_ as long, because why would he be needing new ingredients so soon?  
And so the words had slipped from his mouth in a fit of anger, old prejudices slipping momentarily right back into place like a missing puzzle piece. “Look what you’ve done, you stupid mudblood!” he’d snapped, glaring his signature death glare at the little whelp. But there’d been gasps all around, and it’d come to Draco what he’d just said, just done, and his head whipped up, eyes wide, unsure how to fix this. And there, right across from him, was none other than Harry fucking Potter—lord of justice—looking murderous.

Of course, none of this would’ve even happened if Draco had just taken some dreamless sleep potion last night. His nightmares kept him up all night, which made him slow in the morning, which made him late enough to be running around with second years trampling under his feet. Sure, Madam Pomfrey had restricted him from having any more of the stuff, claiming that he was addicted and likely to experience side effects if he continued to take it, but Draco surely could’ve snuck some if he was determined.

As it was, however, he hadn’t taken any. And so he was late. And so his ingredients were on the floor, and the words had fled his mouth, and Potter looked ready to kill. And so Draco ran.

Potter, being a barbarian, had apparently decided it was up to him to punish Draco for his mis-slip, and so he gave chase. Draco had run fast and far, sprinted up secret staircases and through secret tapestries and trick doors. His feet had slapped loudly against the stone floors, his breathing harsh and loud in his ears, his heart pounding from both the panic and the exertion.

And that’s how he’d ended up here, panting, terrified, crouching on a toilet. He shoved his fist into his mouth, trying to quiet his breathing. He knew he had mere moments before Perfect Potter showed up to hex him or something, and Draco had no interest in sprouting warts out of his ears.

Suddenly, and quite loudly, the door slammed open, echoing loudly off the wall it’d just crashed into.

“I know you’re in here, Malfoy!” Potter barked, and Draco bit his knuckles, breathing as quietly as possible through his nose. He hoped that Potter couldn’t hear his pounding heart.

A stall door crashed open at the end of the bathroom, and then another, and another. Potter wasn’t very creative, resolving to simply opening every stall, but there was the fact of the matter that he would eventually end up at Draco’s stall, which wouldn’t open, and then Draco would be blasted to smithereens.

“Come out, coward!”

Oh, there was no doubt that Draco was a coward. It was what he did best, protecting his own skin. He just wasn’t entirely sure how he was supposed to manage that this time.

Soon enough Potter was slamming on the door to Draco’s stall, and Draco was frantically wishing there was something he could to do get away. Of course, there wasn’t, and then Potter was breaking into Draco’s stall with the use of magic and charging towards him.

Draco jumped down from the toilet, because there was no way in hell that he was going to end up falling in it for the sake of Potter, and then Potter was grabbing his robes and shoving him up against the stall door.

“Going to hex me now?” Draco managed to sneer, and Potter rolled his eyes, yanking Draco forward and slamming him back again, making his head bang harshly against the stall. Draco winced.

“I should,” Potter growled, stepping even closer, so that they were nose to nose, their bodies aligned.

“Too noble?” Draco crooned. “Maybe you should—”

Draco was slammed against the stall again and a groan managed to slip out of him. “Merlin, careful with the goods, Potter.”

“Haven’t you learned anything since the war? Don’t you regret it?”  
Draco sneered. “Of course I regret it.”

“Then why don’t you act like it?”

“There’s a difference between regret and a complete change of personality, Potter,” Draco said airily. “I can’t just change who I _am_.”

“Well maybe things would be better if you could.”

Draco rolled his eyes, mainly to cover the fact that this comment had stung. Besides today, Draco had been perfectly good. He hadn’t said rude comments to people or turned up his nose at first years—he’d been perfectly polite! But one little slip up was enough to make Potter wish he were a different person entirely? What, would Potter start being his friend if he acted all subdued and shy, a complete opposite of the person he actually was? What utter bullshit.

“As much as I’ve enjoyed this little chat, I’ve really got to go,” Draco said. “Unless you still plan to hex me?”

Draco shook Potter off and slid through the door of the stall, making it halfway across the bathroom before a hex was slinging past his ear. He jumped and spun around, meeting Potter’s furious gaze. His hand twitched towards his wand, but he clenched his hand into a fist by his side, restraining himself.

“What, not going to fight me, Malfoy?” Potter taunted. He was smirking, his entire being seeming to thrum with satisfaction.

“You know I can’t,” Draco muttered. It was bullshit, but there was nothing he could do about it. After the war, the Wizengamot had decided that while his father would go to Azkaban, his mother would stay at the Manor under house arrest and Draco would go back to Hogwarts to finish his schooling. He was under strict control, however. His wand had a complex spell placed upon it, which basically didn’t let him do magic until one of his teachers allowed him. Before leaving class, the privilege would be taken from him again.

It was bizarre, having to compensate for not having his wand. Things that he’d always done with magic he found himself having to do manually, such as shaving or simply acquiring a book from across the room. Sure, they were just little things, but they built up quite quickly. And along with the loss of his magic being beyond frustrating, it was also humiliating, to say the least.

Potter raised his wand again, ready to hex, when the bathroom door burst open. It was Granger and the Weasel, both of whom were looking at Potter with exasperation.

“C’mon Harry,” Weasley begged. “We’re gonna be late to Transfiguration, and you know how McGonagall gets.”

“But Malfoy—”

“—Is harmless,” Granger interrupted. “Petty and selfish, yes, but harmless.”

“Hey!” Draco protested. He went entirely ignored.

“It’s not up to you to put everyone in their place, mate,” Weasley said gently, in a way that sounded as if it wasn’t his first time saying the words. Draco wondered if Potter regularly chased people into bathroom stalls and hexed them these days.

“But it’s _Malfoy_!” Potter exclaimed, gesturing wildly. Granger shook her head, and with a put-upon sigh, Harry shoved his wand into his pocket and stomped towards the door.

“It was only gonna be a _small_ hex,” Draco heard Potter say petulantly, as the door swung closed behind him. Draco shook his head, figuring the war must’ve really messed Potter up. He’d gone crazy.

—

Draco shifted uncomfortably in his seat. It was really difficult to pay attention when Potter was _staring_ at him like that. And it wasn’t just this class either, it’d been like this in every class they shared, ever since the bathroom incident.

Gritting his teeth, Draco scratched the tail-end of what Flitwick was saying onto his parchment, figuring he might as well try to _look_ busy. He’d taken to ignoring Potter on these bouts of his, where he stared at Draco without abandon, as if Draco couldn’t simply turn around in his seat at any time.

It was really beginning to get quite annoying though, and the past few days Draco had turned to his notes while doing homework only to find that he’d written absolute nonsense or omitted the information completely, thanks to Potter’s relentless staring. He could _feel_ Potter’s eyes burning into the back of his neck—Draco almost wondered if it was a spell.

As class ended, he gathered his books and tucked them neatly into his bag before hiking it over his shoulder and stalking towards the door.

It was only took for him to walk down a couple corridors before he suspected that he was being followed, and it didn’t exactly take a genius to figure out who it might be. Draco spun around, staring at the surrounding area closely, looking for tapestries or suits of armor that Potter might’ve hidden behind.

“Come out Potter, I know you’re following me,” Draco said to the empty hallway, feeling crazy. But then Potter appeared mere feet in front of him, a cloak hanging from his fingers.

“How’d you know?”

“I could _feel_ you staring at me,” Draco said disdainfully, and Potter simply raised an eyebrow in response. “What do you want?”

“To know what you’re up to.”

“ _What_?” Draco looked at Potter incredulously. “I’m not up to anything, you stupid bastard.” Potter glared.

“Like I’m just gonna take your word for it.”

“What in the world makes you think I’m up to something?”

“You’re quieter than before,” Potter said immediately, holding up a finger. He raised another one. “You’re always in the library. You screamed at that little girl.”

Draco huffed angrily. “You mean, I’m not drawing attention to myself—being an ex-Death Eater; highly disliked, and all. I’m _studying_ , on the off chance that someone’ll actually hire me when I graduate from this shit hole. And I lost my temper _once_ , after that girl broke my new potion ingredients that the ministry had a laugh keeping me from acquiring. I’m just a _person_ , Potter.”

“And I’m supposed to just believe you?” Potter demanded skeptically.

“It’s not up to you to be the judge of my character,” Draco hissed, his temper boiling tantalizingly close to the surface. “Next you’ll be demanding to search my trunk.”

Potter’s eyes lit up. “That’s a great idea!” he proclaimed.

Draco just gaped at him. It was official—Potter was touched in the head. “I’m not letting you into my dorm,” he said slowly, hoping the words would make their way past Potter’s thick skull and into his peanut-sized brain.

“Then I’ll just have to keep examining you,” Potter said easily. “You’ll slip up eventually.”

Draco let out a frustrated shout, and then, knowing he would probably regret it later, marched forward and grabbed Potter’s arm, yanking him down the hall. Potter struggled at first, but then he seemed to realize that Draco was taking him towards the Slytherin dorms. Draco released him, assured that Potter could manage to follow Draco on his own.

Once at the entrance, Draco said the password aloud, figuring Potter would overhear him if he tried to whisper it anyway, and by now he was losing the ability to actually give a fuck about what was happening. He lead Potter quickly through the common rooms, ignoring everyone’s gaping and curious faces.

His dorm was thankfully empty, and he slammed the door shut behind them, gesturing grandly towards his bed, the trunk located at the bottom.

“Go wild,” Draco sneered, and Potter sent him a suspicious look before sitting in front of the trunk and throwing it open. Ignoring him, Draco toed off his shoes and laid down in his bed, staring at the ceiling with his arms stretched behind his head. At least after this Potter would (hopefully) leave him alone. Then he could go back to being ignored and studying in peace.

With a sigh, Draco let his eyes fall shut, only for them to snap open moments later when Potter demanded, “What’s this?”

Draco glanced down at the object in his hand, a silver sphere about the size of an apple. “It’s a Locuslight,” he said easily. Potter was daft if he was going to think a childhood nightlight was a dark object. At this rate Draco could actually have something dangerous in there and Potter wouldn’t realize.

“What does it do?”

“It’s a nightlight.” Draco sat up and yanked it from Potter’s hand before tossing it into the air. The contraption activated and instead of falling back down, it stayed up near the ceiling. It quickly unraveled and silver cords spread out across the air above Draco, before taking on the appearance of outer space, its entirety glowing slightly with twinkling stars.

Potter stared up at the thing, fascinated. “You were scared of the dark?”

“Who wasn’t?” Draco scoffed. What he didn’t admit was that he still liked to use it after he had nightmares nowadays. He found that staring up at it helped his heart-rate return to normal, helped him to stop shaking and thinking that Voldemort was outside his bedroom door.

Figuring that Potter was satisfied with these results, Draco held up his hand, and the Locuslight spun, the image disappearing and the chords raveling back into a sphere, which dropped neatly into Draco’s hand. He tossed it at Potter without warning, who caught it.

“Put that in the left corner, will you? That thing was organized before you starting ravaging through it,” Draco said snidely. Potter obediently returned the nightlight, but he continued to search through Draco’s trunk. He must’ve been bloody bored with his own friends if this was what he had to resort to for entertainment.

The process continued with a bunch of Draco’s nicknacks, all of which were apparently wizarding things that Potter had never seen before.

“Honestly, you call yourself a wizard?” Draco demanded, when Potter questioned him about his diary. Sure, it didn’t look like a diary, but that’s because it was very clearly a _Hidary_ , which were diaries that only the owner could open. It wouldn’t look like a diary to an outside viewer, instead some uninteresting looking object that most would ignore.

“What?”

“ _Everyone_ has them,” Draco scoffed. “It’s a diary, idiot. A Hidary.”

“No it’s not,” Potter argued.

“Of course it is. It’s not going to look like one to _you_ , you’re not the owner. Hence the word ‘hide’ in the title.”

“Open it,” Potter demanded, and Draco didn’t even bother to glance away from where he was picking at his nails.

“No. I don’t care if you’ll keep staring at me in class, there’s no way I’m showing you that.”

Potter paused, looking as though he might argue, but finally relented, shoving the Hidary back where he found it.

“Who knew your knowledge on common wizarding objects was so lacking?” Draco said later. He’d already explained away almost half his entire trunk, and Potter still seemed to think he was going to find something evil. “Of course, perhaps the Weasleys just couldn’t afford any of. If you’d been my friend as a child you’d be much more well acquainted now—I had tons of shit in my room.”

“Ron’s house has a bunch of cool stuff,” Potter defended immediately, glaring at Draco. And then he frowned. “Had? You don’t keep your stuff in your room anymore?”

Draco looked away. “Well, it’s probably still in there. I haven't really been in my room for a while.” This was true, he’d avoided his room while Voldemort was living in his house. He felt it was too predictable of a place to find him, which was why he’d often hide out in the piano room or a forgotten study, sleeping uneasily against bookshelves and on old, stiff couches.

Instead of prying, Potter pulled out a small black marble. “What’s this?” he asked.

“A sex toy,” Draco answered, unabashed. Potter’s eyes widened immediately.

“A _what_?”

“You can borrow it if you want, I’ve got tons,” Draco sighed. And then, partially to prove it and partially because he liked how horrified Potter looked, he crawled towards the end of the bed and shoved his hand into his trunk, only to pull out a handful of similar marbles, all different colors and sizes. They had different functions, of course.

“You’re lying,” Potter finally decided, and Draco just blinked slowly at him.

“Hand me that,” he said, holding out his hand for the black marble. He dropped the other back into the trunk. Potter, looking skeptical, handed him the marble, and Draco scooted back up his bed and slid under the blankets. Moments later, he kicked his pants and trousers to the floor.

“What are you doing?” Potter squeaked. Draco shrugged.

“Proving that I’m not lying.” With that, he pressed the small marble into himself, letting it do the work from there. It activated as he clenched around it, turning slippery and loose. Draco folded his arms behind his head and closed his eyes, letting it do its job.

The toy sunk further into him, sliding quickly and finding his prostate with ease, which it pressed against. It wriggled and rolled against the sensitive spot inside him, and Draco’s breath shuddered with pleasure. This was sure to get Potter to leave his rooms and finally stop bugging him, he thought triumphantly.

Opening his eyes, and expecting Potter to be long gone, he found himself surprised to see Potter still sitting by the end of the bed, his face flushed and his mouth agape. Draco’s erection was now clearly visible, tenting the covers of the bed.

“Believe me now?” Draco said steadily, though his hips jerked up and his eyes fluttered shut as the toy did something wonderful inside him.

“I—yes,” Potter stuttered.

“Maybe you’ll stop accusing me of having something evil in there then,” Draco said, gesturing towards the trunk. Potter nodded numbly. He was still watching with wide eyes, and Draco could see his heartbeat fluttering in his collarbone.

“Is this doing it for you?” Draco asked, and Potter flushed even further.

“ _What_? I—no!” he exclaimed, but he didn’t leave the room, as anyone who wasn’t enjoying this would have. Draco rolled his eyes.

“Grab a marble—the purple one,” he instructed, and Potter, looking dazed, complied. Draco jerked his head then, inviting Potter onto the bed.

Looking unsure of himself, but sporting a major hard on, Potter crawled onto the end of the bed, sitting about just as far away from Draco as he could manage.

“Go on,” Draco whispered. “Put it in.”

Potter’s eyes widened, and though he seemed to have half a mind to protest, he hesitated.

“I mean, you could just watch,” Draco said, and he arched up under the sheets then, panting. “But—you’re really missing out.”

Potter watched, entranced, before nodding slowly. “I—okay,” he said, and with that he was shucking off his own trousers and easing one hand under himself, beneath his underwear. It was evident from Potter’s expression when the thing turned on, unraveling and squeezing itself deeper inside him. His eyes went very wide, seeming almost fearful for a moment, and then his toy started vibrating. This was why Draco had told him to pick the purple one.

Potter sat up very straight then, his face red, and clutched the sheets on either side of him. He was shaking, his body occasionally giving little jerks and twitches in any one direction.

“Told you,” Draco said with a smirk and then, unable to resist any longer, he moaned. Potter gasped, and Draco wondered whether it was because of him or the toy.

“M-Malfoy,” Potter murmured, and Draco looked up at him.

“C’mere,” he said. Potter scrambled across the bed, no questions asked, and Draco sat up in front of him. The covers slipped off his waist, leaving him very much naked, which Potter was quick to notice.

Draco shoved his hand into Potter’s boxers without preamble, relishing in the surprised moan he released, and the way his hand came up to clutch at Draco’s shirt. He made Potter come like that, stroking him quickly while their toys worked furiously inside both of them, pressing against their prostates and driving them mad. Potter came with a cry, jerking forward into Draco’s hand desperately and tugging him closer so that he could press his head into Draco’s shoulder. Draco followed quickly behind him, overwhelmed with the combination of the feeling of the toy inside him and the sounds Potter was making.

Afterwards, the marbles curled back into their original shape and slipped out of them, leaving them panting, sitting on their knees and clutching each other tightly.

“Er—” Potter said, sounding awkward, and Draco released him and sprawled out on his bed instead.

“If you’re going to have a crisis or something, leave me out of it,” Draco said, and Potter blinked down at him.

“What?”

“For doing that with a guy. Or with a Death Eater. Whichever one freaks you out more.”

Instead of responding, Potter just frowned slightly, before laying down next to Draco. That definitely wasn’t the response he’d been expecting, though he didn’t necessarily mind.

Draco closed his eyes, and mere moments later he felt Potter’s warm body pressing up against him.

“Oh Merlin,” he muttered. “You don’t really plan to _cuddle_ , do you?”

“Shut up,” Potter snapped, and he pulled Draco tighter against himself. Draco resigned himself to having to deal with a post-orgasm, sleepy Potter and slumped in his arms. He couldn’t see anyway of getting out of it, anyhow.

“Does this mean you no longer think I’m up to something?” Draco finally pondered a few minutes later. He half expected for Potter to not even respond, feigning sleep.

“Nah,” Potter said easily. “I think you’re just lonely.”

“ _What_?”

“Don’t worry. I can fix it.” With that, Potter really did fall asleep and Draco was left to silently fume, wrapped up in his arms. Honestly! Who did Potter even think he was, coming to such conclusions about Draco?

Still, he guessed he would be able to bear it if Potter continued to bother him—he’d managed it today at least. And if the afternoon’s events were to somehow repeat themselves… well, Draco wouldn’t really mind that either.


End file.
